


Father

by crazy_lion



Category: Demi Lovato - Fandom
Genre: Demi is angry but loves him anyway, Drama, Fear, Introspection, Reference to alcohol abuse, Sadness, Writer's Block, bad day for Demi, cries, he broke his wife's fingers and she lost a finger (but not described in detail only mentioned), long flashback, reference to domestic violence, reference to drug abuse, relief at the end, she thinks about what her biological father did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 06:03:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15880026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazy_lion/pseuds/crazy_lion
Summary: Demi is working on her fifth album and she's alone, late in the afternoon, writing. She feels like, even though she's recorded songs that talk about her, one of them is missing, one that's more hers, more personal, more true. After a few hesitations, she decides to pay her father a visit at the graveyard. She doesn't realize, though, that between nice and mostly painful memories a long, sudden flashback and rapid moments of going back to present, that night something inside her will change forever.Disclaimer: Through this piece of writing, published without any lucrative aim, I have no intention to give a thruthful representation of this person's nature, nor offend her in any way.





	Father

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:  
> 1\. This story was originally written in Italian by me. You can find it on the website www.efpfanfic.net. My nickname there is crazy lion. I asked a friend if she wanted to translate this FanFiction in English and she said yes. We decided I could post it here so I did.  
> 2\. Also, in this story Buddy is one of the characters instead of Batman, because the first died in 2015 and the story itself is set in 2014.

**Father**

 

Demi was at the recording studio, cradling her head in her hands. She couldn't take it anymore. It was late in the afternoon and she still hadn't written anything. Lately, she had been composing some songs for what would soon have been her fifth album and she liked them, but it seemed to her like something was missing. She always wrote about her life and her personal experiences, and that one album, that would have contained way lighter songs in place of the previous ones, all she needed was a track that felt _hers_. She had tried writing one about her mother, who was the person she admired the most in the world because she was strong, she had been through a lot and had never given up. She reread the few lines written on that blank sheet of paper but didn't like them. They weren't deep enough, not even remotely descriving Dianna.

"Damn it!" she exclaimed, frustrated. "Why can't I do this?"

She moved her hand in an irritated gesture, as if to try and swat an annoying insect.

She was alone. She had told everyone to leave early since they were so tired, while she would have stayed until she figured out what to write, at the very least just one topic to write about. Love? No, she had already talked about it. Her past problems? Neither. She had written a great deal about them. She decided that maybe not writing on dear old pieces of paper but sit in front of a computer would have been for the best. Maybe tapping on the keys, writing and erasing things if they weren't good enough would have helped her. She picked up her laptop, opened up a file and started trying, but after spending five whole minutes in front of a white Word sheet, she slammed her fist on the table.

"Damn it!" she hissed between her teeth.

She hated that block that sometimes kept her from writing. It was unbearable and it made her feel like she was trapped in a metaphorical cage from which she would have probably never escaped.

A sharp rap at the door startled her. She had immersed so much in her own world of words that such a noise scared her as if it had been a thunder in a storm.

"Come in."

"Demetria, are you alright?"

It was Phil, her manager.

"Ehm ... no, not much" she admitted, looking at him with eyes full of sadness.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't write. I'm not inspired and I don't know what to focus on. I had thought of my mother, but that's probably not the right subject for this song" she sighed.

She was usually full of energy, but that day, to Phil Demi looked really tired. He also knew it from the tone of her voice, since she seemed to struggle when talking.

"Since when haven't you slept?" the man asked her, sitting right next to her.

He had talked so sweetly Demi was moved. Phil wasn't just her manager, but a great friend, the person she could always talk to if she ever had a problem, someone she knew she could always count on.

"I ..." Her heart started hammering in her chest, so much so that she hoped Phil didn't notice it like she was doing. "I slept perfectly last night, I had no trouble at all!" she exclaimed with too much emphasis, showing a kind of strength she really didn't have.

"Your eyebags tell a different story. You've been like this for a few days, what's going on?" Since the girl wasn't answering, he took her hand and asked again: "What's wrong, Demi?"

"I was trying not to think about it, but today's the first anniversary of my father's death.”

It was the 22nd of June. Patrick had died of heart attack the year before. The girl had not wanted to see him for years, but when he had died she had suffered a lot despite the anger and the hatred she had felt in his regards.

"I get it. How do you feel?"

"Bad" she said sobbing, while some tears fell streaming down her face. "And I _woudln't want to_ , I _shouldn't_ feel like this.”

"Even if you didn't get along, you still loved him, dear. You know that."

Phil just knew he had pushed the wrong button. He hoped he didn't hurt the girl, because he really didn't want to.

She didn't answer, but said:

"Maybe I should go pay him a visit. It would only be fair, right?"

"Only go there if you feel like it. Nobody urges you to."

"I don't know what I want."

She let herself slump in the chair. pulling back the brown hair that had fallen in front of her face, placing hel cold hands on her knees and thighs, seeking warmth. Despite it being hot, she was cold because of her tiredness, and she felt even worse because of that.

Over the last week she had slept for three or four hours a night, spending the rest of the time thinking and praying for God to give her a little peace, because the rather mixed feelings she had for her father were sometimes so strong to drive her insane. She tried not to think about it, but it wasn't easy, especially when at night she was home alone with her thoughts and her memories.

"Anyway," the manager continued, "I would advise you to get out of here, go home and take a shower. After that you'll feel more relaxed and you'll know what to do.”

"But ..."

"No buts. You can't work like this. You're too tired. You have already recorded some songs and that's fine. We still have time to take care of the rest. You've even been way too good, Demetria."

"I guess you're right" she said, giving up.

"No, I'm _always_ right."

"You idiot!" she joked, playfully touching his nose. "Thanks, Phil."

"Don't even mention it! It's always a pleasure to help you out."

With that said, they both got up, then went their merry way.

Once home, Demi was welcomed by Buddy, her adorable white maltese who jumped up on her to greet her.

"Hi baby!" the girl exclaimed, talking to him in that weird and funny tone people usually reserve to their pets.

She crouched to pet the dog and he licked her, then she picked him up and went to sit with him on the sofa. Demetria was tired, but Buddy wasn't, and on the contrary was actually full of energy, so much so that he brought her his favorite ball to play with. The girl spent around half an hour throwing it to him and him taking it back, until he got tired and ran to sleep in his own bed.

Instead, Demi laughed: she felt better because she had distracted herself and then played with her beloved pet she loved so much, which was one of the best things for her. She always thoroughly enjoyed those little moments of happiness, and Buddy always found a way to make her laugh, brightening even the darkest of her days.

She got up, went to the kitchen, made herself two toasts and poured some chips in a box, then started eating. The dog woke up, then barked for a little food. After that bit of protest - Demi preferred him to eat his kibble - she gave up and gave him something, that the dog ate in just a few morsels.

"Always a glutton, huh?" she commented, smiling and scratching his furry head.

She then went upstairs for a shower and then felt refreshed and way less weak than before. It seemed to her that even her mood had got better.

She didn't want to think anymore, so she chose to get out of the house and go to the graveyard to pay Patrick a visit. While walking through the short road that would have taken there, she kept her gaze low, trying not to think of anything.

Once there, she felt her legs go limp. Graveyards always had that effect on her: they drained of all energy, and it seemed like she felt, though shortly, all of her will to live and fight fade away. She felt breathless while walking closer and closer to her father's tombstone. She hadn't been there since the day of the funeral. She hadn't forgotten all the tears Dallas had shed.

She was able to spend more time with her father, she had got to know him better, and despite everything, she had grown really attached to him. When he died, Dallas was devastated. She had cried for months, and on the first days she was in so much pain she didn't even want to eat. Demi stood by her side, backing her up and supporting her in any way she could. It had not been easy, but after months of suffering, crying fits and mood swings, the girl felt better.

"It's weird no one's actually around" the singer told herself.

Who knew if her mother would have showed up even after everything Patrick had done to her. Dianna had told her that he had humiliated and treated her badly for years, and one time he had even slammed her fingers in the door, with the impact having been so hard some of them had literally broken. The doctor was able to fix all of them but one.

She was motionless for a long time, then started singing in a low, almost perceptible voice.

" _See you calling again_

_I don't wanna pick up, no, oh_

_I've been laying in bed_

_Probably thinking too much, oh, oh_

_Sorry I'm not sorry for the times_

_I don't reply, you know the reason why_

_Maybe you shouldn't come back_

_Maybe you shouldn't come back to me_

_Tired of being so sad,_

_Tired of getting so mad, baby_

_[…]_ ”

When she was done, an unbearable weight seemed to want to crush her. She let out a horrible, almost inhuman scream trying to allievate the terrible pain that threatened to smash her heart in a thousand little pieces. She hoped nobody had heard her, otherwise they would have thought she had gone insane, even though she didn't really mind. She was breathing rapidly and with effort, now.

_Panic attack. I'm having a panic attack._

That was all she could think of. She had already had many, now she could easily recognize them, and even if she had tackled such a problem at the clinic, it was still hard for her to control them.

“It'll be gone soon, hang in there, Demetria. It's nothing" she kept telling herself, while her mind was stuck on one single thought.

_I'm going to die._

She focused on the silence, on the cool night breeze that filled her lungs, on the smell of soil wettened by last night's rainstorm. The psychologyst who had been following her had once told her focusing on the present and her surrondings could have been a solution to overcome those moments of fear and great anxiety. Keeping busy slowly calmed her down. She waited for a couple of minutes, then said:

"I'm sorry for this kind of greeting, dad. I know it probably wasn't what you were expecting, but it came naturally to me."

She would have wanted to talk to him more, but she remembered an episode that had happened  many years before. It was so sudden that Demi almost got scared. Everything happened when she was very young, but she remembered everything perfectly; and once grown up, when she talked things through with her mother and Dallas, they both opened up, telling her exactly what they had felt. Demi would have never forgotten any of that.

 

 

It was late at night, and since Patrick wasn't back yet, Dianna had made dinner for her daughters. It wasn't right for them to stay hungry just because their father was out drinking and only God knew when he was going to be back.

"You're not going to eat?" Dallas asked her.

That little girl was only seven and a half, and yet she had seen so many things! Fights between her parents, him screaming and her doing the same, or crying; and not just that, because sometimes Patrick went from talking to beating her.

"I'll wait for your father. He'll get angry if I don't..."

Right then, the key turned in the lock and the door opened and closed with a bang. Patrick got to the kitchen faltering. He was pale, and he smelled like alcohol and something Demi and Dallas really couldn't define.

"You're high tonight too, aren't you?" Dianna asked him, bravely.

She had to face him, or he would have stomped her down.

"So what? What if I am? What's your fucking problem?"

"It is my problem. You're married and have a family. You've never even wanted to tell me anything about why you're doing this, I can’t even remember since when" she replied boldly. "Don't you think you have two little girls you should be taking care of too?"

"I'm here for them, and I love them."

He almost fell to the ground, but held on to the table.

"Yes, that's true." Dianna had to admit that. Despite everything, Patrick loved Demi and Dallas. He often played with them, and helped the eldest with her homework until he was back to square one. "After that, though, you go back to drinking and getting high. You can't help that, and you don't even want to get yourself cured.”

"Fucking stop!" With incredible force, he overthrew the table, breaking plates and glasses and making food fall to the floor. Dianna and the girls were quick enough to move aside. The man picked up a couple of forks and threw them at her, who luckily dodged them and shielded her face to avoid being hit in the eye. "Don't _ever_ talk to me like that again, Dianna" he hissed, menacingly.

Meanwhile, Demi had started crying, but her mother didn't have the strength to hug and calm her. Her husband's rage fits terrified her, and always deprived her of the courage she previously possessed.

"Shhh, calm down" Dallas told her, fighting against herself to avoid her own tears from falling. She was terrified herself, and afraid her dad could have hurt her, but she had to be strong for her little sister. "It'll all be ..."

Okay? How could she say that? Their parents' fights were more and more frequent, and always ended in the same exact way.

It was when Patrick tried to thow an object against the children, something he had never done before, that Dianna shielded them from it and understood that story had to end.

"Take your sister to your room and stay there" her mother told her, in a way too rough tone.

It sounded like an order, so the little girl didn't think twice of it.

"Come on, Demi" she whispered, taking her hand.

She tried not to shake, but it was impossible.

"No, mumm ...” the little girl stuttered, planting her feet to the ground, so much so that the other had to literally drag her upstairs.

"We can't stay here while they're fighting" she explained to her.

"But ... is he going to hurt her?"

Demi had never seen her father so angry. She heard him punch something, probably the table, and she got so scared she took a step back risking to fall from the stairs, but Dallas held her little hand and backed her up. When she locked her bedroom door, she sat on the bed with the little one on her lap and talked to her:

"No. He's already thrown things and screamed, but he never did anything, it won't happen this time either.”

She had shown a kind of self-confidence she really didn't have, but she was aware of that. She would have wanted to let herself collapse on the bed, but she didn't.

"Later, when I'll be alone" she told herself.

Meanwhile, their parents just kept fighting, screaming so loud the little girls could hear them clearly. Dianna was telling Patrick how absent he was, how he was ruining their lives and was consequently destroying their family, and he just said she was exaggerating, as always.

"Enough! I can't take this from you anymore!" the woman shouted. "I'm tired, _we're_ tired. You make us live in terror."

"What do you mean "we're tired"?"

"That me and the girls can't take it anymore. You keep scaring us when you drink and use drugs, but you're too drunk and wasted to understand. I know you love our daughters, in a wrong and puzzling way to me, but you do that anyway. We've been happy for a long time, you know, then everything has changed. So if that's it, if you want them to be happy, leave. Leave us alone. Get your things, scram and don't come back. I'll talk to a lawyer so that you'll have the divorce documents, and we'll figure out when you can see the girls, even if I think you should still try to get yourself cured. No judge will ever leave them to you if you're like this, not even for a weekend, and I won't leave them with you, not while you're as sick as this; and I'm going to let you see them, but they're staying _with me_. I'll repeat it so that it gets into your head: they're staying with me! Is that _clear_?"

Dianna's voice came out loud and brave like never before.

"You're breaking up with me?" he asked her, lowering his tone a bit.

The woman burst into tears and both Demi and Dallas would have wanted to run downstairs and hug her, but when the little one ran for the door, the other stopped her.

"Wait, it's better if you don't; I locked the door for us to be safe. Let's stay in here a little longer, okay?"

"But ..."

"Demi, come back here, please."

Dallas never raised her voice with her, she was always kind and Demi loved her for that. She wasn't like their dad.

She obeyed and sat in her lap.

"Yes" Said Dianna.

Long, dreadful moments of silence passed. Everything was still, as if waiting for any kind of reaction from Patrick. Her mum had been brave telling him that, Dallas thought, but what now? Would he have beaten her to death? Would he have thrown something at her and sent her to the hospital? It had never happened before, but judging from their behavior, the little girl thought it could have. The little ones didn't hear it, but the man heaved a deep sigh, then said three clearly audible words:

"You are right."

He climbed the stairs with heavy steps, and the little girls stopped breathing, fearing he might have brought the door down and take them with him. They didn't want to go, they wanted to stay with their mother and see him once he was better ... maybe. They held each other, to be brave. They heard him get to his room, open the wardrobe, and then there were thumping sounds. After that, his steps joined the noise made by a trolley. He was going away. The door opened and closed, quietly this time. Dianna probably got to the bathroom, then they heard gagging.

"Why does mum eat so much and then throw up?" Demi asked.

Dallas didn't remember how long she had been doing that for, and the same went for how long ago her father had started drinking and using drugs.

"She feels sick" Dallas replied.

"Then that means she's often sick" the other objected.

She behaved like that almost everyday, so much so that Demi, despite her very tender age, had started checking her belly and asking herself why she was fat, just like her mother said she was.

"Yes" the other said, knowing their mother, just like their grandmother in the past, had an illness: bulimia.

They heard water running from the tap, then nothing else.

A few minutes went by, and someone knocked on the bedroom door. The girls didn't even flinch. Could their father be back for them?

"It's mummy" a voice said.

After moments of hesitation, Dallas opened it up. Dianna was pale and shaken up, but what really struck the girls was the expression in her eyes, reddened by her crying and full of the utmost fear.

"It's over, girls! It's all over!" she exclaimed, hugging them. "He's gone and I promise he won't come back.”

The three of them started crying.

 

 

A gust of wind blew through some leaves, letting her back into the present.

"You scared me to death that night, dad; And even years after, when I was with Dallas and I don't remember who else. Mum wasn't around, and neither were Eddie and Madison. At some point the person we were with called mum.”

She had done that because Patrick had started furiously banging on the door and demanding to take the the girls with him. Dianna had told the little ones and who was taking care of them to hide in their room and never come out until they were back, then called the police. Demi remembered how with every blow, with every shout from her dad, her heart beat fast, and how in those moments she even feared breathing, scared he might have heard her. She didn't recall anything about the police, but only because Patrick was gone before they even showed up, and the garden was a mess, the flowers and plants ruined. It was him.

She cleared her throat.

"The song I sang to a while ago," she continued, as some tears streamed down her face up to her neck, "perfectly describes how I feel about you. Remember when I was four years old and you came to find me because you wanted to spend a day with me just to make me happy? You remember what happened after that, right? You bought me a present, brought me back home and left. I burst into tears. It was wrong, dad. How could you do that? I was just a little girl!"

Dianna never forgave him for what he had done. Demi tried to forget that episode giving it less importance to avoid suffering, but never fully made it through. Patrick had hurt her too deep, that time.

"I often hate you, dad. I don't want to deny that. I hate you for what you put mum through, because she ended up in the hospital, because she's lost a finger out of being abused by you. How could you do something like that? Did you even have a conscience?  Probably not. I don't think who hurts people really has one." She got angrier, raising her voice. "How could I even think, ever since your death, that you were up in Heaven? You don't deserve to be in such a beautiful place. Heaven is not made for people like you."

Oh, God! She had said too much. It wasn't her place to decide such things. Only God could. She didn't want to be mean, but that was what she thought. The anger she felt was unbearable, she felt it burning inside her like liquid fire, and right then, it was stronger than any kind of feeling. Patrick had wronged his wife, his own children, and even though Demi knew he had had problems with drugs and alcohol, she just couldn't forgive him because he had never tried to get better. One time Dianna had convinced him to go to therapy, but he had left in the middle of the first session, opening up a bottle of vodka mere moments after. She stomped her foot to the ground, then tried to focus on her breath.

_In, out. Breathe in, breathe out._

It was a matter of seconds, but she finally regained some composure.

"I'm sorry" she continued. "You shouldn't be angry at the dead.  I wonder if you ever loved me, dad. Did you really?" She truly hoped so. "Forgive me if I never went to find you in all these years, but I couldn't make it. You don't know how many times I tried and then backed up! I tried today and I made it, but it was rough. And yet, if I'm here, that's because despite everything, I still care about it, and I hope you can understand. Our relationship was always difficult, you know that. Even though I said no, I hope you're in Heaven right now, I hope you found happiness. If your soul was ever tormented and not in peace, I couldn't bear it. It would be too painful.” Her voice went hoarse, and she felt her eyes burn and her cheeks fill with heat, all signs she would have soon started crying. She coughed and went on: "Maybe one day we'll meet again and make up. Even though you and I never really got along, and even though I sometimes feel negative things about you, deep down I know I love you, dad!" she exclaimed, while two lone tears streaked her cheeks. She started crying quietly at first, then louder.

She knelt beside her father's tombstone, placing her hands on the cold marble.

"I love you, dad!" she repeated, knowing she felt the desperate need to say it even if it meant being redundant. "The love I feel for you is stronger than hatred and anger. I don't think I'll ever forgive you, but maybe now it's time to stop holding grudges."

If there was something she had learned in her young life it was that such a feeling poisoned people and made them feel awful, consumed them up to their soul and made them turn bad. And she didn't want to end up like that. Her father hadn't done many good things, but she would have lied if she had said they hadn't spent careless moments together. They were scarce, but she remembered them. And, even though it would have been hard, even though she would have never put the rest behind her back, she knew she had to start an internal journey to try and make amends with that part of her past, and in turn, with him. If Patrick hadn't behaved the way he had, she would have been a completely different person, probably not so mature and well disposed, given her experiences, to help others like she did. Somehow, she was grateful for that. One thing was sure, though: she missed her dad. Right then and there, while she was crying, she could have used his hugs or his advice. She stayed there for a long time, shaken by her own sobs, so much so she didn't even notice the custodian had already closed the graveyard without knowing of her presence. Anyway, Demi wasn't scared. It was like being next to her father's grave gave her confidence, almost as if she wasn't in a graveyard, but home with

him.

On the following morning, when she finally got out, she left steadily. She was devastated and her eyes were about to close from the tiredness, but luckily she had a day off. She told herself she could be up for a little longer. She sat at her desk, turned on her laptop, and that's when inspiration struck again. She had mixed feelings for her dad, just like she had told him, and a song about them all had popped into her head. As she quickly tapped the keys, her hands were flying just like her heart, which was doing backflips. Demi was exstatic: she had finally got back to writing and could unwind again, freely playing with words and putting her whole self into that song. Once she was done, she read it over, fixed any mistakes she had made and started singing it.

" _Father, I'm gonna say thank you_

_Even if I'm still hurt_

_Father, I'm gonna say bless you_

_I wanna mean those words_

_Always wished you the best_

_I, I prayed for your peace_

_Even if you started this_

_This whole war in me_

_You did your best or did you?_  
_Sometimes I think I hate you_  
_I'm sorry, dad, for feelin' this_  
_I can't believe I'm sayin' it_

_[…]_ ”

Her voice echoed clearly around the house, while Buddy, who was sitting next to her, kept his little head up. He loved to hear his owner sing. The girl cried and found herself so emotional she couldn't finish. Those words were full of sadness and pain, but also will to forgive and go on. Once everything was over Demi smiled, and with that same smile she lied on her bed and fell asleep, knowing that having talked to her father had brightened not only her day, but her whole existence.

**Author's Note:**

> credits:  
> Demi Lovato, Shouldn’t Come Back
> 
>  
> 
> Demi Lovato, Father
> 
>  
> 
> Note:  
> Patrick didn't leave his family when Demi was three or four years old like in this flashback, but when she was one and a half. I came to know it a while ago, but that part was too important since it analyzed the feelings of the Demi I was talking about, so I decided to leave it like that. The facts that Demi felt bad on her fourth birthday, that Patrick has hurt Dianna in that horrible fashion and that he wanted to take the girls with him and messed up the whole garden, and that Dianna was anorexic are all real. I read them in "Falling with wings: a Mother's story" the book written by the singer's mother. The scene of the flashback in which Dianna says to Patrick to leave is invented. I read the book a little while after having written this story. In truth, Dianna wanted to leave when Demi was eight months old, but the husband found out and ridiculised her, so she stayed. Then, when Demi was older, the woman decided to leave and, the moment Patrick tried to throw an object against the girls and she shielded them from it, she couldn't take it anymore. She hided in a house she had on a lake. She received many calls from Patrick who apologized for what he did, but she never came back. She then found an apartment and a job.


End file.
